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<\/p>\nBritish academia runs on tea.<\/p>\n
\nIt’s true. I’d forgotten what it’s like to work in a scientific university environment in this green and pleasant land. The entire building seems to decamp to the tea room as a ritual occasion, once at mid-morning and again around three in the afternoon. A fair few can be seen lingering with an after-lunch cuppa as well, and the kettle in our study room is boiling pretty much constantly. <\/p>\n
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\nThought facilitator or pesky distraction?<\/strong><\/p>\n \nThe tea culture is a steamy reflection of the underlying stretched-out time frame behind all the hard work going on. After a few years in a rather formal, nine-to-five, constrain-your-lunchbreak-to-an-hour-or-else office environment, the relaxed atmosphere of academia is a bit of a shock. Nobody cares what you wear; nobody cares what time you come in or leave. Nobody cares if you check your email or book a holiday or read the BBC website or nip out to the post office on ‘company time’. There is<\/em> no company. There is only the organic whole of the laboratory, whose clock is individual and self-wound. People might be in the lab from ten until midnight, but the amount of actual lab work going on is nowhere near as long. There is time for reflection; time to chat with colleagues; time to sit in on the many seminars and group meetings going on. And time, of course, for another cup of tea.<\/p>\n \nAfter a month, I’m still not quite into the swing of it. If the Tube has problems and it starts looking as if I’ll arrive later than my (self-imposed) 9:30 target, my heart begins to race with anxiety: the phantom weight of corporate disapproval, bearing down on me. I still feel guilty taking the occasional peek at my personal email, and I can’t seem to get out of the habit of eating a sandwich at my desk while working at the computer instead of hanging out in the common room with the others, or skipping lunch altogether. I try to work hard and stay focused while I am there, and so far, with only a few exceptions, I’ve managed to leave eight or nine hours after I arrive. And no weekends. Even so, I think it’s entirely possible that I am getting as much done as everyone else. <\/p>\n \nGone are the days of eighty-hour-a-week stints in the lab, for me. I’m at the age now when I realize that you can compress a lot of effort into a smaller amount of time, and what is important in life is to carve a space for yourself outside of work, to defend it rigorously, and to not let yourself be seduced by the siren call of “just one more quick experiment”. And just as importantly, I have learned not to care what other people might think when I am always the first to walk out the door.<\/p>\n \nLike tea, obsessive long-hours research is highly addictive. But I’m confident I can kick at least one of these habits.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" British academia runs on tea. It’s true. I’d forgotten what it’s like to work in a scientific university environment in this green and pleasant land. The entire building seems to decamp to the tea room as a ritual occasion, once … Continue reading